


Wedding, Security, and Oscars

by cumberbatchcheekbones



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Airplane, Fluff, Honeymoon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberbatchcheekbones/pseuds/cumberbatchcheekbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot detailing John and Sherlock's escapades through the airport on a trip to Rio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding, Security, and Oscars

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by this person on Tumblr: jawnistoleyourjumper

“I can’t believe this is what you want.”  
  
“Sherlock, it’s not a huge request. I’m asking you to go out and enjoy yourself with me.”  
  
Sherlock plucked his violin absently. “A honeymoon is entirely unnecessary, John. We aren’t saving ourselves for marriage, so why on earth to we have to fly to Rio to celebrate a simple wedding ceremony?”  
  
“Because Brazil is pretty, you speak Portugese fluently, and I’d like to get out of England and do something special.” John put down his newspaper on the ottoman. “I’ll do all the work with booking flights and hotels. You just have to pack for yourself and enjoy yourself when we get there.”  
  
John was staring at him with his glistening, wonderful eyes that made Sherlock frightfully tongue-tied. “Fine,” Sherlock groaned as he stood up, moving to the window with his violin, sliding out a simple tune to welcome in the sluggish Sunday morning.  
  
—————————————————-  
  
John and Sherlock were absolutely covered in lipstick as they slid into the cab on their way to Heathrow.  
  
“Your mother is quite the passionate one,” Sherlock remarked as he began to scrub at his face with a tissue.  
  
“She does that a lot at weddings. Should have assumed she’d do it at mine,” John responded as he too scrubbed away at the lipstick on his cheeks.  
  
“You missed a spot, John.” And as Sherlock turned John around to catch the last remaining lipstick, he couldn’t help but be ecstatically happy. Now no one could claim this man, take this wonderful man away from Sherlock as their own.  
  
And John had no intention of pushing Sherlock away when he pressed his lips to John’s. Sherlock’s hand cradled around John’s head, keeping John’s head close as their lips danced and John’s hand ran up Sherlock’s thigh.  
  
 _I can’t believe I’m here with this man as my husband_ , John thought as he released from the kiss and stared knowingly into Sherlock’s ever intense eyes.  
  
The sun had disappeared over the horizon line as the two newlyweds paid off the cabbie and grabbed their bags. John had only a small suitcase and a small backpack on his back. Sherlock, on the other hand, looked like he’d packed his entire wardrobe including a wardrobe. He had a suitcase, a duffel bag, and an overflowing briefcase.  
  
“You couldn’t leave the cases at home? It’s two weeks. Lestrade will live.”  
  
Sherlock smirked. “No he won’t. If I’m going in this trip, anything I can do over phone and text will save Scotland Yard’s arse and give me something to do.”  
  
John didn’t want to fight about something as petty as luggage. However, that battle became slightly more important when the staff at security found suspicious items in Sherlock’s duffel bag.  
  
“Sir, we’re going to have to examine this bag.”  
  
Sherlock studied their gloved hands for a moment. “Latex. Fine, do as you need.”  
  
John was confused. “What does his gloves being latex have to do with you letting him in your bag?”  
  
And his questions were answered when the uniformed man pulled out a microscope and seven petri dishes.  
  
“Sir, these cultures have to go.”  
  
Sherlock’s face turned livid as he began to chatise the staff. “The instructions on your signs in front of checkpoint-“  
  
“Do in fact state that these aren’t allowed on board.”  
  
John couldn’t suppress a giggle as his husband grew pink with embarrassment. Sherlock shot John a look that made his giggles quiet. Needless to say, the samples were disposed of, and Sherlock and John left security in separate states of frustration and amusement.  
  
“I can’t believe you actually thought those were going to get by.”  
  
“I was fully prepared to pull out Mycroft’s ID, but they weren’t important anyway.”  
  
John stared at Sherlock’s attempt at a poker face. He was such a little boy sometimes. “Sometimes, you can’t lie if it would save England.”  
  
Sherlock continued walking on, John in front of him giggling. The sound of John’s laughter was enough to lighten Sherlock’s frown into a small broken grin.  
  
The gate was annoyingly far away, mainly considering the fact that Sherlock’s long strides kept causing him to kick the back of John’s suitcase.  
  
Finally they arrived at the gate and sat in a pair of empty seats in the corner next to an expansive window overlooking the airplanes. Sherlock slid into his seat, somewhat uncomfortable as his knees bent awkwardly off the low chair. All of a sudden, he kicked his feet in the air and draped them over the armrest onto John’s lap.  
  
“Much better,” Sherlock sighed.  
  
“Sherlock. Really. In the airport.”  
  
“Why not? What difference does it make? I’m not putting my feet up on a stranger’s lap, I’m putting them on my husbands.”  
  
John couldn’t help but notice he said the last part a little louder than necessary. Sherlock wanted people to hear. And John couldn’t bear to diminish Sherlock’s pride, so he left the consulting detective’s long gangly legs in his lap as Sherlock adjusted himself into the corner of the pleather chair. He wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but John had begun rubbing Sherlock’s legs. And he could have sworn that as Sherlock’s eyes closed, he purred slightly.  
  
The line to board was annoyingly long for Sherlock.  
  
“Would they just move faster? If the woman scanning people in would stop bickering with the flight attendant about their son, the line might move faster.”  
  
John turned to him. “How on earth do you get that from all the way over here?”  
  
Sherlock looked disappointed in John. “I can’t believe you don’t think I can read lips. She enunciated ‘our son’ to the point that people in the next terminal would know about their affair.” The passengers in front of them, one a pilot, turned around to stare at the detective.  
  
“Sorry, don’t mind him. He’s an idiot.”  
  
The pilot shook his head at the detective. “But you are right, ‘cept they’re divorced, not an affair.”  
  
“Damn,” Sherlock muttered. “I always get something wrong.” And the more John looked at the woman and the flight attendant, the more he saw exactly what Sherlock had said.  
  
The airplane wasn’t particularly crowded. Sherlock insisted on the window, shutting out as much human connection as he could, and John had no issues with the aisle. Across the aisle next to Sherlock and John, a new mum and dad bounced a little baby girl on their laps, cooing at her and booping her nose. Sherlock took one look and turned away. John, however, couldn’t help staring at the tiny child in the man’s arms as he raises her in the air and covered her in kisses. John realized that having biological children, hell, having children at all would be out of the question. He sighed and looked at the ecstatic parents, recalling all his fond fantasies of being a dad.  
  
And Sherlock noticed the slight change in John’s face as he sighed. Disappointment? Jealousy? Longing? John wanted a kid? That thought had never crossed Sherlock’s mind that they might have a child together, that he might be a father. And that horrific thought, of having to be careful with experiments, to not risk his life for cases, it sent Sherlock into a deep funk. He pulled John in close, his long arms wrapped around his personal teddy to comfort John and to drive away the terrible feeling.  
  
The airplane movie was altogether too boring, Sherlock had seen it before and thought it to be a bore.  
  
“Remind me again how Inception is boring.”  
  
“It just is,” the detective sulked quietly.  
  
“No, you didn’t like that you couldn’t understand the plot at the beginning and then refused to watch the rest.”  
  
“No, it was just too easy.”  
  
When the movie ended, Sherlock sighed and pulled out ten pounds. “You know your money is my money and vice versa, so this bet was pointless.”  
  
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sherlock. Glad you did enjoy Inception once you actually gave it a chance,” John said as he took the money from Sherlock  
  
Sherlock snuggled into John’s shoulder, muttering about Leonardo diCaprio and his lack of Oscars. John smiled as he accommodated for Sherlock’s head, turning his chest to face the window on a diagonal and wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders.  
  
They stayed this way the rest of the flight, ignoring the trolleys bearing drinks. They ignored the whiny raspy sound of the captain giving minute facts about cruising altitude and temperature and turbulence. Even Sherlock ignored the facts being sent through the speakers with a crackle. His head stayed rested against John’s chest. John stayed under Sherlock’s weight, playing absentmindedly with Sherlock’s fingers.  
  
The woman across the aisle saw these two, wrapped up in each other’s arms, perfectly content, but not a new feeling. These two men gave the wife the impression that this was not new. That this was standard, a level of comfort found everyday. And she’d seen the blonde one eyeing her little girl out of the corner of her eye. His face was so disappointed. She could tell he wanted a kid. She would have passed her kid to him, a complete stranger, but he did not seem strange. Not like he’d do anything drastic. But his partner’s head was on his lap, and she could tell from the look in the blonde man’s eyes that he would not move him, that he was utterly smitten with this man and this moment.  
  
And so she watched them, as her husband bounced their little girl as she lay across his chest in the window seat. She watched the two men in the aisle across her slowly fall asleep in each others’ arms, the lanky brunet murmuring something about Oscar and the blonde fiddling with his companion’s fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any constructive criticism, please leave it below. It is much appreciated.


End file.
